Finding Me
by love and peace
Summary: (RENT fic) a story about angel's past FINISHED AS OF 10603
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: all rent characters belong to Jonathan Larson, but the story and my characters belong to me (so there!) ;-p  
  
A/N: this is set when Angel is sick and after she dies. POV changes between characters.  
  
Chapter one  
  
ANGEL  
  
I wake up thinking I'm in El Bronx again.  
  
I wake up half expecting to see my sister, Sara in the bed next to me, or hear Jordan puking in the bathroom, or hear Alice scolding Shelley for being out too late.  
  
But no.because there's no wilting rose bush outside the window. And it's Collins sleeping in the bed not Sara.  
  
It's one of those days when the heat oozes through the city like molasses, or a plague. It makes you tank top stick to you back, your front and your sides like a second layer of skin, it makes wearing pantyhose impossible 'cause you can't even bring yourself to put them on. Even at seven AM it's hotter'n a frying pan in Hades and the thick soup of exhaust makes you nauseous like you were after you turned your first trick, or your second or your fiftieth. It's the kind of nauseous that happens the morning after you've dreamt of shadow wolves under the bed and wake up smelling sausage and pancakes and even though it smells safe you know you ain't.  
  
God, I can't breathe. I'm dizzy. Jesus what's wrong? Collins? Sara? Jordan? I can't stand up..  
  
"Angel?"  
  
Oh, don't make me get up Jordan I don't wanna go to school..five more minutes.  
  
"Angel?"  
  
Sara in your short black skirt, leaning against the phone pole, smoking a cigarette, trying to look older than fifteen, leering at the passing cars * wanna party ?*  
  
"Angel?!"  
  
Roger playing his guitar, bantering with Mark. Mimi laughing and laughing and squirting water out her nose because someone.Maureen? No Roger, said something funny.  
  
"Angel! Angel, wake up!"  
  
Oh, Collins five more minutes. I'll get up I swear. I'll take Sara to school. We ain't gonna get lost it's five blocks to the Life Café.  
  
"Ang.."  
  
I can't hear you..too early..too late.you okay honey?.today for you.for you.tomorrow for.me..  
  
Okay, this is the first chapter (obviously) please review! Tell me if it's worth it to keep going! 


	2. chapter two

A/N: I hope this isn't too confusing. Please tell me if it is! We'll begin this evening with Mr. Tom Collins.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Depression isn't terminal sadness. It's not constant anguish and sobbing. It's a dead dull feeling, like it's four AM and the party's over and you're left standing in the dark living room with the half empty cups and cigarette butts. It's boredom and tiredness. It's a let down, bored, tired of life feeling, like the party's over and you want to go home.  
  
I know that life without you, my Angel, will be like that.  
  
Mimi's asleep with her head rested against Roger's shoulder. Her tangled brown curls keep getting in his mouth, but he's too exhausted to notice anymore. Both he and Mark look close to passing out. Maureen, by contrast, is jittery. She's been drinking coffee steadily since we got to the hospital. Joanne looks desperate. She can't do anything about this. She can't call Legal Aid and ask who they can sue because the AIDS is finally winning.no! It's not winning. It'll never win because Angel can't die. Not without me. I love you Angel, don't leave me.  
  
"Mr. Collins?"  
  
How can doctors be so calm? I hate their voices, efficient but never hopeful.  
  
"Yeah?" I rub my hand over my eyes.  
  
"Is she okay?" yelps Maureen, snapping to attention.  
  
"She?" says the doctor, "Ma'am."  
  
"Is * she * okay?" I ask.  
  
The doctor frowns. What? I feel like asking, never seen a drag queen before?  
  
"He.* she * is stable." He says, "But we don't anticipate.her leaving anytime soon."  
  
Mimi groans like she's been hit in the gut and starts to sob. Roger hugs her tight, murmuring into her hair. Mark looks like all the blood has been drained from his face. When did they wake up? Joanne jumps up and puts her hands on Maureen's shoulders to keep her from pacing any longer. I never thought I'd see them look so hopeless. It's like they've already accepted Angel's fate.  
  
And me? Me. I want to rant and scream and cry and hurt someone. I can't remember when I wanted to kill someone this much, when I wanted to throw things and howl. But I don't. I stand so * so * still and try to push down the moan that's rising in my throat.  
  
"Thank you." I croak to the empty air. The doctor's already rushed off to tell someone else their loved one is dying, giving birth, that her operation went well, that's she's had a sudden heart attack, that no you * can't * reattach little Susie's left nostril. Off to break a heart or make a day.  
  
God, I hate doctors. 


	3. chapter three

A/N: this chapter is half flashback half in the present. It begins with flashback (and reviews are always nice. They make my day and they make the rivers flow)  
  
Also, thanks to Angel of the First Degree for reviewing the first chapter, I really liked your story. If anyone wants a really good story about Angel's past try "Today 4 U: Proof Positive" (that is ANOTHER really good one (I hope this is good.))  
  
Chapter Three  
  
ANGEL  
  
I watched Sara as she sat by the dock watching the river. This early it was always beautiful, mist rose off the water, dyed peach by the early morning sun that glinted gold off the water and glowed on the thick legs of the under pass. It was magical, like a fairy tale. New York has as many faces as God.  
  
"G'morning, mi amiga. How went the night?" I purred in her ear. I knew she was past being surprised when I snuck up on her like that. I'd known her so long she could usually gauge when to expect it.  
  
"As good as it could get. You?"  
  
"Fine as fine can be, pet."  
  
I inspected her, like me she was dressed to kill. Short black skirt, knee length boots, red tank. "What are you thinking, querida?" she asked after a moment.  
  
I yawned and shrugged, "I think working the nine to five shift is not for me. Do you think I'd do as good a trade in the day?"  
  
Sara snorted. "When pigs fly and the Pigs die, we will work day jobs. It's better than nine to five in la factoria, no?"  
  
I shrugged again, Sara might like turning tricks each night but I wasn't too fond of it. Usually though, I was too out of it to know completely and totally what was going on. A couple chases and I was good to go. Ooooh, that magic smoke dragon..  
  
"Tell me a story, Sara." I said suddenly.  
  
Sara smiled, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She handed me one and lit for both of us. We stood there, looking out over the fog that was rapidly burning off and puffed quietly for a while. Half way through her cigarette, Sara began to speak;  
  
"Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away-"  
  
"Sara! Be serious."  
  
"Oh, Angel, I've been up all night. It's too early. No stories right now, por favor."  
  
"Fine," I sighed, breathing out a lungfull of smoke, "Later?"  
  
"Later I promise."  
  
"Hey! Are those my girls?!" called Sids, his voice only slightly muffled by the quickly dissipating fog. I grinned as he came loping towards us, his shirt open as usual. His hair, which I'd just done in neon green slapped my tired eyes. It was the color of frog vomit.  
  
Sids threw an arm around each of us and leaned lightly against our shoulders. He kissed me on the mouth for a full minute before pecking Sara on the cheek.  
  
"Eugh! Girl cooties!" he teased  
  
I giggled and slapped his arm. I really did love these two.  
  
"Let's go to the old Piss six six six today." Said Sids suddenly.  
  
"Eh? Why?"  
  
"Because we need an education. We are the youth of this grand nation. We are the future. We must educate little old selves." He said in a deep, authoritative voice. "'Sides, I've turned a nice number of tricks tonight and I don't want to spend my hard earned cash on no lunch. Piss gives you free lunch."  
  
"Tastes like shit though. And it's so fatty. I need to watch my figure." I joked.  
  
"Girl you skin and bones. I'm gonna force feed you some greasy public school hot dogs and mealy fries if I have to. Put some fat in you. Maybe then you can grow an ass."  
  
Sara snorted and swatted him lightly with a manicured hand (my doing). "Shut-up, cretin. Don't be talking to Angel like that."  
  
"Cretin? Man, I need a dictionary to talk to you! I need to be an educated man to speak to you! This is why we must go to school this morn', my girls. This is why we * must * get our education. So we can understand what fuck the fine Sara is sayin'."  
  
And so it was that we three dragged our selves to PS66 that morning, when the air was thick as pudding and the light turned the city into gold. We dragged our worn out limbs through over the cracks and the leaves the color of heat, over the old dog shit and the broken beer bottles to the entrance to PS66, the New York Public High School version of America, that is, it was the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.  
  
* * * * * * * (A/N back to the present)  
  
"how many dawns, chill from his rippling rest/the seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him/shedding white rings of tumult, building high/over the chained bay waters Liberty-"  
  
I know that voice. Swimming up through a sea of pink mist and dreams of the past I can hear Collins reading to me. "Poem: To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane, who's name I've always loved.  
  
"Then with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes/ as apparitional as sails that cross/some page of figures to be filed away:/--till elevators drop us from our day."  
  
Oh, keep reading Collins. Your voice is beautiful. Keep reading so I know I'm not alone.  
  
"Collins?"  
  
He drops the book, I hear it thud on the floor and gasps, "Angel?" he grabs my hand, tight like a little kid.  
  
"Hi."  
  
His beautiful eyes fill with tears, "Hi, baby."  
  
"Please, keep reading?"  
  
He smiles, and begins again. "I think of cinemas, paranormic sleights/ with multitudes bend toward some flashing scene/ never disclosed, but hastened to again,/ foretold to other eyes on the same screen..I'm going to read something different."  
  
I nod.  
  
" 'Hope' is the thing with feathers-/that perches in the soul--/ and sings the tune without words--/and never stops-at all--/and sweetest-in the Gale- is heard--/and sore must be the storm--/that could abash the little Bird/That kept so many warm--/I've heard it in the chillest land--/and on the strangest Sea--/yet, never, in Extremity,/it asked a crumb-of Me."  
  
"I love you Collins."  
  
"I love you too, Angel."  
  
* * * A/N: 'Hope' is the thing with feathers is by Emily Dickinson  
  
. 


	4. chapter four

A/N: another flash back. They aren't told in order, so flash backs may skip from when Angel was ten to when he was three to when he was fifteen. Don't worry, I'll warn you.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
ANGEL  
  
* Flashback to when he first met Sara and Jordan (he was six) *  
  
To say that I didn't want to go into that house is the understatement of the century. I would have cut my right arm off to avoid that place. I would have literally had to because that was the arm that the social worker, Mrs. Brightly (no joke, it * was * her name) was pulling on as she dragged me, screaming bloody murder, up the cracked, weedy path to the sagging porch.  
  
"Angel, * please * stop this! It's just a foster home!"  
  
"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I DON'T WANNA GOOOO!!!" I wailed. I was *scared * I'd never been in a foster home before. I wanted my mother. "I WANT MY MAMI!!!"  
  
"You'll see her again * soon * Angel, I promise! She's just sick. You'll see her when she feels better."  
  
"NO! WHY CANT I STAY AT HOME I DON'T WANNA GO HERE!" I bawled. But by then it was too late, Mrs. Brightly had dragged me onto the porch, which creaked and groaned in protest, and was knocking brusquely on the door. Not that she needed to, I'm sure my screaming had tipped anyone inside off that, yes, we had arrived.  
  
A thin, mean looking woman with a long, make up caked face and a nasty scar running along the left side of her jaw peeled the door open. A wailing baby sat on her right hip and pulled at the strands of brittle looking praroxided hair that hung down from her messy bun. Two dark haired kids peeked out from behind her.  
  
"Hello, Mrs. Brightly!" she gushed, "How are * you *? And who is this handsome young man?" her voice didn't fit the rest of her. It was so sunny and friendly. Like the host of a Saturday morning kid's show.  
  
"Jane, this is Angel Juan Torres." She said, shoving me gently toward the woman.  
  
"Why hellooooo Angel, I'm Miss. Jane. It's soooooo nice to seeeeeeee you!"  
  
It was not nice to see her. Her house smelled like ten years of cooking, all stale and moist and horrible.  
  
"Come * in * Angel, and meet Jordan and Sara and little Anton." She poked the sobbing baby in the stomach with a sharp, stick on nail, which only made him cry harder.  
  
I shuffled into the dark little house and stared at the two kids in front of me. They were obviously related. They shared the same dull, velvety black hair, pale skin, round green eyes and pointed chins. The boy looked about eight, the girl six, my age.  
  
"Angel ain't a boys name." Said the boy.  
  
"Yes it is." I protested, lots of boys in El Bronx were named Angel.  
  
"It a * Spanish * name, butt head." said the girl, "I'm Sara do you want to be my sister?"  
  
"I'm a boy." I reminded her.  
  
"Yes but I already * got * a brother. Jordan's my brother." She jerked her chin at the boy, "I want a sister too. We can pretend."  
  
I shrugged, didn't seem so bad to me, "Okay. Are you my sister then? Or am I only yours? And is Jordan my brother too? Are we sharing?"  
  
Sara burst into laughter, "Angel you funny!"  
  
But I was serious. "Are we sharring?"  
  
"Yes." said Jordan. "Let's go in the back yard."  
  
Three minutes later found us sitting in a half dead apple tree, throwing an old tennis ball to each other.  
  
"Listen," said Sara, "Never * ever * go into Mr. Ralph's room at night. He Ms. Jane's brother and he's meaner than she is. He gonna ask. He gonna say 'Now little boy, why don't you sleep in my room so if you gets a nightmare you wont be scared.' But you gotta say no, you ain't get a nightmare. You * don't * go in that room. Got it?"  
  
"Why?" I asked.  
  
"Because!" Jordan yelled. He looked really angry and he wasn't throwing the ball, just clutching it really hard.  
  
"It's a bad room. There are shadow wolves under the bed and in the walls and the corners where there ain't no moon light and they come out and do bad stuff."  
  
I was scared now. "You're lying."  
  
"Am not! AM NOT! Promise you, heaven true Angel. There ARE shadow wolves in Mr. Ralph's room so you can't go in there."  
  
I nodded. I believed her. Their faces.they looked scared.  
  
"I promise not to go in, and if the shadow wolves come out tonight I'll kill them. I'll feed them garlic and baked beans and they get so much gas they blow up!"  
  
Jordan started to laugh and laugh. "You're so funny Angel! You're so funny!"  
  
A/N: well? Bad or good? Review please! Help me make this better! 


	5. chapter five

A/N: okay, here's chapter five. Thanx again all who reviewed u made my day! Btw heather goldbug, why do I do what? Write fan fiction? Or write confusing things? Help now I'M confused!!!  
  
Chapter Five  
  
COLLINS  
  
She's sleeping when I leave. I don't want to leave the room ever, but I need something to eat, and maybe some coffee, even if it is weak, lukewarm, hospital coffee. So I drag myself into the waiting room and begin the hunt for a working vending machine.  
  
Just my luck that there isn't a single machine on that floor with anything in it except dust. I'm not about to take the elevator up or down just to get some packaged, processed lump of caramel and chocolate, and hospital coffee is little better than brown water, unless you drink it in mass amounts. This has been proven by the lovely Maureen Johnson, who I am sure is even now suffering for last night's caffeine marathon.  
  
Funny, but now I'm out of the room, I can't bring myself to go back in. I can't stand to sit there and look at her, a shadow of her former self. She'd lost so much weight, I can't believe I didn't notice! And she's so pale. I can't stand to sit there and watch, completely helpless, while she lies for hours unmoving, hooked up to beeping, rasping, dripping machines. I just can't do it. Does that make me a bad person?  
  
I sink into one of the hard seats, my head in my hands.  
  
"Collins!"  
  
Head leaves hands and cranes upward, something it isn't used to doing when I'm looking at Mark, as he's about a head shorter than I am. He looks horrible. There are dark smudges under his eyes and his blond hair flops in an unkempt mess over his glasses. He's clutching an old supermarket bag and trying to smile.  
  
"Thought I'd find you here."  
  
"What brings you to this fine establishment?" I query. "At three in the morning, that is."  
  
"I came to see you and Angel, and to give you this." He drops the bag unceremoniously in my lap and sits down next to me.  
  
"Angel's sleeping."  
  
"I figured, but I'm not and you're not and I knew I'd find you here, so I brought this along."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Call it a care package."  
  
I open the bag to find five well worn paperbacks, a thermos, a large lump of tin foil that I'm going to assume contains food, and (oddly) a sock puppet.  
  
"Thank you. What's in the thermos?"  
  
"Coffee."  
  
"There is a God!" I sigh, unscrewing the cap and almost slopping the scalding liquid over my arm as I pour it into the cap/mug. It tastes soooo good. Coffee coffee coffee yuuuuuum. Once I've had my fill of the nectar of the Gods, I look more closely at the books, they've brought. "The World According to Garp", which was always Angel's favorite book. A collection of poems, "Huckleberry Finn", "A Clockwork Orange" (my favorite) and a bible that has to be mine, as I'm the only one as far as I know who owns one. The tin foil contains Mimi's rock hard attempts at cookies. The thought is nice even if the food isn't.  
  
"Erm.why the sock puppet?"  
  
"It's a cow." Says Mark, as if this explains it all. I notice for the first time that he is camera free. This event should go down in history.  
  
"I don't follow."  
  
He sighes, "It's * Elsie*. Maureen's protest cow. She made the puppet a couple of months ago out of my sock because she was bored. She thought it might cheer you up."  
  
"Tell her I'm very grateful." And I am. This is Maureen's strange way of offering sympathy, something she's never been very good at. I glance over at Mark. He looks exhausted, but I don't want him to leave just yet.  
  
"Thank you. For coming. It.well."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
And it is. Just for this moment, holding this stupid sock cow, drinking the scalding coffee and gnawing on Mimi's iron cookies, I'm not alone. Here in my hands is the evidence that my friends care, that they'll stick with me through this. Here in my hands, in this strange bundle of books, food, and puppets, is the testimony that no one is alone, and that no matter what, I'll never be forgotten.  
  
A/N: ooooooh! Sappy sappy sappy. Sorry its so.well sappy. Keep reviewing!! (please?) 


	6. chapter six

A/N: As has been demonstrated by chapter five and will be continue to be demonstrated here, I am a major coffee addict. Also, events in this chapter may seem irrelevant, but they aren't.  
  
Chapter Six  
  
MARK  
  
New York at six AM is really something. It's this early, when the sun's just rising that everything seems possible. The cool morning air and soft light makes the city seem clean and new, like maybe today redemption is possible.  
  
Then of course, you look around. There's an empty beer bottle in the gutter, there's a homeless man curled in a ball against the cold, like a stinking, wiry haired fetus. Across the street from the building is the scorched skeleton of a car that someone set on fire one night. It was quite a bon fire! I remember, someone brought out a boom box, someone else brought drinks and a very inventive somebody provided marshmallows and we had an impromptu block party. Of course I expect the owner of the van wasn't as pleased with the outcome. Now, months later, the van is still there. People have gratified it BLOW ME!!!! is written in giant fuzzy, pink block letters. BLOW ME!!!! God, that's New York for you.  
  
And there's the Life Café. It's squashed on a corner, the black awning heavy with dew, the chairs are still stacked on top of the tables outdoors but it's open. The lights are on and there are already a couple of people hunched over coffees or early tofu pancakes.  
  
I should go home. I mean, Roger and Mimi have most likely stopped fighting by now. I mean, can you actually fight all night? They both have good stamina, this has been proven multiple times, but shouting is not the same as sex, is it?  
  
I push the door open and slouch at the counter. I wonder if I can get away with putting coffee on credit again, 'I swear I'll pay you as soon as I have money!' right. That'll really go over well! Oh, well water's free isn't it?  
  
God, there's just too much to think about right now. There's Angel, the feeling that she may not get better this time. There's Roger and Mimi, constantly battling it out, there's having no money, or food, or heat, or electric. And there's that job. I can't sell out, no matter what I can't sell out but sometimes.sometimes, when I can't even afford a coffee, it's like, well why not? Surely, selling your sole (so to speak) is better than starving to death? Maybe so, maybe so.  
  
"What can I get you?"  
  
"Just water, please."  
  
The waitress purses her lips.  
  
"Hey, can I get another coffee?" calls the girl beside me.  
  
"Sure thing." Says the waitress, setting a cup down beside her. I can feel my mouth watering. When she's trotted off to get my satisfying cup of water, I feel a sharp finer poke me in the arm. It's the girl next to me, the lucky owner of a nice hot beverage that she can actually *afford *  
  
"Here." She says, pushing the mug at me. She isn't conventionally pretty, she's got wide green eyes, long, dull black hair and a pointed chin, but her mouth is crooked and she's too pail to be really pretty. Attractive, I guess. She'd be perfect to film. "And don't tell me you ain't want it. You look half dead."  
  
"Thanks," I stammer, "but I can't. It's yours. You paid for it."  
  
"I bought it for you." she insists. "Don't try to be a gentleman. I know valor's fucking dead anyway so drink the coffee before I pore it on the floor." To demonstrate how serious she is, she actually lifts up the cup and dribbles a little on the floor.  
  
"Fine! Fine, I'll drink it!"  
  
"And you'll like it too!" she says triumphantly, slamming the heavy mug down before me. "I'm Sara Jones." She sticks out a manicured hand.  
  
"Mark Cohen." I say, shaking her hand, before turning to the drink.  
  
"Here's you water." Says the waitress. "Be nice to him, Sara." She adds.  
  
"Surely Shirley!" chirps Sara. "I'll be a regular *angel *"  
  
I very nearly choke on my coffee. It's not just that she's said 'angel', that's not really remarkable, it's 'surely Shirley'. Angel used to say that, and as far as I know it's not exactly a common expression.  
  
"Um."  
  
"Si?"  
  
"This is going to sound crazy-"  
  
"I bet it won't. I've heard many crazy things darling. Don't be scared, I wont hurt you if I think you're nuts. I'll just run."  
  
I laugh, "Okay. Well. Um. Do you, by any chance know an Angel Shunard?" I mumble, feeling insanely stupid.  
  
But now it's Sara's turn to choke on her coffee. She stares at me like a deer caught in the lights of a semi. "I-yeah. Yeah I do. How do you.?"  
  
"I'm a friend."  
  
"Wow. Oh. Wow. It's just. I haven't seen Angel in a while. Not since last Christmas actually." She laughs sadly, "How is she?"  
  
Oh, no. I never should have brought this up! "She's. She's not doing so good. She's pretty sick actually."  
  
Sara sucks in her breath and the lets it out in a low whistle. She looks like she's working hard not to cry. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." She whispers, crossing herself rapid fire. "How sick?"  
  
"She's in the hospital." I don't want my voice to break, but it does. I don't want to cry in front of a stranger, but I'm dangerously close to it.  
  
"Where? Which one? I need to see her."  
  
"I'll take you if you like, I was just there."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
**** A/N: abrupt ending.hmm.must work on that. 


	7. chapter seven

A/N: thanx again for reviewing! This is a note that has nothing to do with the story: ehem. I have just finished reading the best book I have read in a long time its called THE PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER by Stephen Chbosky and I HIGHLY recommend it! read it read it read it there's a lot of difficult subject matter but it's a fantastic book! And its set in me home town and it reminded me lots of my own friends. SO TRY IT!!  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
JORDAN  
  
I don't believe in a lot of things. I don't believe in fairies (score! Somewhere out there one of the little gnats has just dropped down dead and ain't nobody clapping! That's Jordan 10 Fairies 0!) Okay seriously. I don't believe in God, though that's nothing new, I don't believe in the healing power of prayer, organic food and positive thought, I don't believe in fate, I don't believe in luck or fortune, I don't believe in mothers, it's not that I don't believe they exist, I just don't believe in their capacity to stick around. I don't believe in other people. Sara and Sids and David and Remy say it all the time and it's true. I don't believe that when I fall someone will be there to catch me, I don't believe that you sincerely care about my problems, I don't believe that in the long run, everyone is at least a little bit decent. And here's the whopper, this one always makes people gasp and say, "Surely *not * Jordan! That's just *horrible *!"  
  
I don't believe in love. Alright, go on gasp, cry, shake me, try to convince me otherwise. Go on, do, it'll be fun watching you spaz around till you figure out that nothing is going to change my outlook. Love is a farce. It isn't real.  
  
What I *do * believe in is money. Money is always there and when you have it you're more of a person because that's what everyone thinks. I also believe in death, because everyone dies eventually, and I also believe in the speed of light, because the speed of light and the fact that you are going to die one day are the only things that never change.  
  
I'm sitting on the front stoop of a squat (not my squat, I'm about four blocks from home), smoking a joint and watching the sun rise and waiting for the caffeine pills to wear off so I can stop feeling so jittery.  
  
"Heidi-ho, Jordan ol' buddy ol' pal! Long time no see mi hermano, sup?"  
  
"Good morning, Sids." I say. His hair is electric blue this morning. I don't remember when he changed it, maybe a week ago? I don't even remember what color his hair actually *is *.  
  
"And a fine morning it is indeed, son. I can feel in my bones that something is up. How's Remy?"  
  
"You'll see her when we get home. Ask her then. Anyway how should *I * know how Remy is?" I snap. I am *really * not in the mood for this today.  
  
"Fine. *Chill *. Relax. Go with the floooooooooooow."  
  
I'd ask what he's on but Sids is always like this.  
  
We sit there talking about cabbages and kings and smoking until David shows up, looking exhausted and bent like an old man, even though he's only 22. It's so hard for him, working the nine to five. I know he hates it, but he needs the money. He wants to buy a restaurant and be a chef and to do that you need money, so David works the nine to five with me and Sids, turning tricks and popping pills so he can't remember it too good. Welcome to New York, baby!  
  
"Good morning David my dearest, truest, buddy. My brother, my role model, my REASON FOR LIVING! Have I told you I love you this morning? Have I told you how beautiful you are?" slurs Sids. Sids always slurs, even when he's not high or drunk.  
  
"No, you haven't. Morning Jordan." Says David, sitting down next to me and snatching my joint.  
  
"You're welcome!" I snort.  
  
"No you're a *flower *, David!" coos Sids, flopping down and lying across our laps, "A peach, a rose, an apple, a pear, a shiny new dime, a daisy chaaaaaaiiiiin! You are the wiiiiind beneath my wiiiiiiiiiiiing-zah!"  
  
So we sit there building pies in the sky. Building coffee shops out of clouds, cafés out of the wind, bars made of fog, clubs made of the sunrise. We talk about Remy and how David's so lucky she's his girl. We talk about Sara, and wonder what Mother Theresa of East Village is doing this morning. What good deed has my sister decided she'll do this day? And we talk about Che Guavara because Sids has him tattooed on the left side of his chest and we've run out of other things to talk about.  
  
And then we see Sara dashing up the street toward us, wrapped in her black wool coat with the holes in the sleeves, still in her skimpy working clothes. She's dragging a blond guy with glasses behind her and they both look pretty upset. Only it's a different kind of bupset, the man looks sad and worn down and used to being sad and worn down, but Sara, who probably has more cause to look like that than most people looks like the hurt is fresh and surprising. Like she's never been sad before in her life and this is some new and horrible emotion that she's not used to having.  
  
"Jordan!" she says, wiping her eyes with her coat sleeve, "She's sick. Angel's sick and she's in the hospital and and and-this is Mark." She finishes lamely, pointing to the guy behind her.  
  
"Hello? What? How? Angel? No? Angel, Angel can't get sick! She can't be sick, she's never sick. She's an Angel!" protests Sids, "Sara it's a mistake!"  
  
Sara shakes her head, "It's really not."  
  
"But." says Sids, "but. She was fine. I saw her a few weeks ago. I mean I didn't talk to her I just saw her at St. Mark's Place. I saw her she was.she was fine."  
  
"That wasn't her, Sids." Says David. "It wasn't her that was someone else. You know it was someone else."  
  
"No." says Sids. "Angels don't get sick."  
  
But I know they do. Because you can't count on anything accept the speed of light and that we are all going to die one day. So Angels can get sick. And it looks like this one's card is up.  
  
*** A/N: I know it's moving kinda slow, I apologize for that! 


	8. chapter eight

A/N: another Flashback! (wahoo!) they are about fifteen at this point. Keep reviewing because I'm insecure ; P Also, the squat town this is set in does not exist as far as I know, and yes I did borrow Sara's net dress from the book SMACK by Melvin Burgess. Sorry, I thought it was a hi-larious idea!  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
ANGEL  
  
(he's about 15 at this point)  
  
I met Sids at a party in the squat town in Soho.  
  
We were at Louie-Louie and Alice's place, the music was so loud you could feel the bass pulsing in your feet a block away. By the time you were actually in the big front room, lit by a thousand candles jammed into empty wine bottles, or stuck to books or the floor your teeth were tap dancing in your mouth and your bones were doing a tango. I was dressed to kill, all in blue like the Virgin Mary. Only I guess I was like, the revised version. Like I say, I was in all blue, but I was wearing a tube top, a knee length viol skirt, fishnets and four inch heals with little sequins on them. As I say, a revised edition. Mary after she's lost her cherry. To Lucifer.  
  
Sara was wearing a net. I kid you not, she was wearing this little black crochet dress and that was it. It looked like a normal dress at first but then you really started looking and BAM you notice you can see right through it. Jordan wasn't too happy about it.  
  
"You look like a hooker, Sara."  
  
"That's the idea."  
  
Jordan glared at her and picked at the duck tape on his jeans.  
  
"Don't pick at them you'll ruin them!" protested Sara, "I spent ages on them. The jacket too."  
  
"She's right. If you pick at it you'll ruin the effect." I scolded, smiling to show we weren't ganging up on him. And he did look fabulous. Sara had stuck duck tape all over his tattered old jeans and cut some extra holes in them for effect. She made him a shirt out of some pairs of black fishnets, but the crowning achievement of this ensemble was the jacket. She'd made him a penguin coat (the kind with lapels and tails) entirely out of duck tape! It was so amazingly amazing I wanted to steal it.  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but that jacket is so amazingly amazing I think I'd like to steal it!" boomed someone over the music. It was a boy with white hair that stood out around his head making him look like a mad scientist. He was wearing a lime green Hawaiian shirt with garish pink flowers on it, cut off camo pants and massive bright pink boots with daisies painted on them and Dalmatian print lining the poked up over the edges.  
  
"I'm Sids!" he screamed, "and I am in love with your jacket and I want to marry it! Will you dance with me?" but he wasn't talking to Jordan, he'd grabbed my hand and was tugging me out onto the writhing sea of bodies on the dance floor.  
  
"I'M ANGEL!" I bellowed over the music.  
  
"I'M A MONGOOSE!" he bellowed back.  
  
"I'M A LEBONESE YACK!" I bellowed.  
  
"I'M WINNIE THE POOH!" he bellowed.  
  
"I'M A BOWL OF PASTA!" I bellowed.  
  
"I'M AN ELEPHANT!" he bellowed  
  
"I'M HIGH AS A KITE!" I bellowed  
  
"I'M NOT!" he bellowed.  
  
"I'M HAVING A BLAST!" I bellowed.  
  
"I'M IN LOVE!"  
  
And then he kissed me. I was so shocked at first I honestly didn't know what to do, but then he started to nibble my lower lip and I really started to enjoy it.  
  
"I really am in love, Angel." He whispered when we came up for air. "Honest to heaven."  
  
"With me?" I asked.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I smiled. "Well I think you're better than caramel with peanut butter on top. Which is my favorite candy." Because I couldn't say I was in love with Sids. I wasn't. So I couldn't say, honest to heaven, that I loved him. So I did the next best thing.  
  
Sids laughed. "That sounds disgusting."  
  
"It's delicious."  
  
"Am I?"  
  
"You're better 'n delicious, Sids." I purred and kissed him.  
  
We spent the rest of the party dancing and slipping into closets or corners to make out. We were on the red couch with the ripped upholstery, the one three windows down from the mulberry tree, when Sids said, "You wanna be my girl friend, Angel?"  
  
I grinned 'cause it was like third grade or something, really innocent. He was blushing too. I mean, we'd spent about five hours freak dancing and kissing on various pieces of furniture and he blushes when he asks me out? I decided right then and there that if I had to choose a guy to fall in love with it would be Sids and I really hoped that I did one day.  
  
I kissed his nose, working my way long his jaw until I was nibbling his left ear lobe gently. He moaned softly. "Sure I will." I murmured.  
  
"Amazing. Amazing amazing amazing." He said and that was that.  
  
That night as Sara, Jordan and I walked home from the party was the first time I realized I was alive. It was probably around three AM and the city had that blue-ish black hue that it only gets at three AM. The stars were huge and bright and they looked close enough to grab and hold in your hand. It was just amazing. Like Sids said, amazing amazing amazing.  
  
* Three Months Later *  
  
Remy planted roses in front of the squat. A thousand roses she planted in a thousand different colors. She never trimmed them, so they grew together into mountain of thorns and leaves and reds, oranges, pinks, yellows, whites, blacks so many colors. Remy wore long dresses with no shape to them and never cut her long blond hair or pulled it back. She didn't wear shoes except in the winter. She liked to lie on her back on the crumbling garden wall and sing songs by Kate and Anna McGerigle.  
  
"Love, love where can you be?  
  
Are you out there lookin' for me?  
  
Love I am waiting  
  
Heart beats accelerating!"  
  
David was quiet, he had dark hair that always fell in his eyes and only half of his mouth smiled. He love to read, and play soccer and cook and he wanted to be a chef.  
  
He was playing soccer with Louie-Louie and Aruthur and Foxy and Anderson and Julia who dresses like a boy when he kicked the ball too hard and it whacked Jordan in the back of the head.  
  
They've been best friends since.  
  
We were sitting in the rose garden, Sara, Remy, David, Sids, Jordan and I, drinking weak tea and telling stories when David asked, "Why did you three run away?"  
  
David ran away because his father hit him and locked him in the basement and Sids ran away because his Catholic family didn't want a gay son. Remy didn't run away. Remy never had anyone to run away from because neither of her parents wanted her. Remy's always been on her own and she's always lived in the squat town.  
  
When David asked why we ran away Sara's lips turned white around the edges, Jordan looked up at the sky and held his chipped mug a little tighter. I started to shake and shake and shake. I remembered shadow wolves like oil oozing out of the dark, I remembered Alberto who never spoke and cried all the time, and I remembered Jordan holding the knife and Mr. Ralph's blood everywhere.  
  
"We had a rough time at home." Said Jordan. "We just got so sick of foster home after foster home so we just up and left."  
  
But Sids felt me shaking, and he wrapped his arm tighter around my shoulder and I knew he knew Jordan wasn't telling the truth. I also knew I'd tell him that night, because I hated never talking about it. 


	9. chapter nine

A/N: I am only writing this A/N because I want it up here because it looks cooler. But don't really have anything to say.  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
SARA  
  
Sometimes my brother scares the life out of me. He scares me because when I look at him, he's never just happy. There's always something in the way of it, a memory, the peeling wallpaper, the fact that there's no heat today, there's no food, the water has turned rusty again. There's always something in the way of him being all the way happy. Some times, if you catch it, David is just happy. Or Sids. Sid-o is angry a lot but he's also happy a lot too. And Remy, well she always seems.not happy but.content I guess. Angel was happy. Angel smiled and laughed and she knew how to stop arguments and make you feel better and she was just always there helping and fixing. But now she's sick and I just don't know what to do.  
  
Because I'm not Angel. I'm not magic and I can never say just the right thing, do just the right thing, to make someone feel better.  
  
We're all in her room right now. Mark brought us, but he's outside in the waiting room. When we came in the first thing I saw was this giant black man with long dreads stooping over her bed and I thought 'Shit! He's going to kill her!' He just looked so desperate and sad, and a little angry, kind of like Jordan did that night.  
  
Never mind.  
  
But then Sids went crashing into the room and did some kind of quasi pirouette and flopped over Angel's legs. He wasn't trying to be funny or anything, he was just so desperate to see if it really was our Angel. And if I'm going to be honest, I kind of had this abstract hope that it wouldn't be our Angel. Maybe Mark was wrong and it was a different person.  
  
But then Sids moaned softly and I knew it really was her. And that's when I started to cry.  
  
ANGEL  
  
Someone's crying. Sara. Jordan. Collins. Mimi. Sids. Alberto. David. Roger. Maureen. Me. someone.  
  
The baby.  
  
The baby was wailing on Ms. Jane's hip, pulling on her bleached hair and squirming. That stupid baby was always crying. We all had our hands clamped over our ears, Jordan had his head under the sofa cushion.  
  
"Jane! Shut that fucking baby up, Jane!" Called Mr. Ralph from his room. I hadn't seen him once since the first night I was there. We'd been at the dinner table eating gluey spaghetti with watery sauce when he stomped into the room. He was wearing what I'd come to think of as his uniform, a white undershirt and jeans, he had thinning brown hair and a thin, sallow face. He wasn't old, only about thirty and very thin.  
  
"Who's this?" he said, looking at me with mild interest. He was standing behind Jordan's chair, holding on to the back of it. Jordan's back was stiff as a rod. No one was eating anymore. "This the new kid? Is it a boy or a girl?"  
  
I got that a lot, my hair was shaggy and I had big eyes and what my Abuela- God rest her soul-called "Effeminate features" which I guess meant I looked girly. Grammy used to use really big words. She had a Ph.D.  
  
"A girl." Said Jordan quickly. "Her name is Angel."  
  
"Did I ask you?" snapped Mr. Ralph. Jordan hunched his shoulders and stared hard at his spaghetti.  
  
I expected Miss. Jane to correct him but she just said, "Want some pasta, Ralph?"  
  
"No it looks like shit. I'm ordering pizza."  
  
He swore! I thought. He insulted her cooking! If I'd said that word in front of Grammy, if anyone had said it, they would have gotten a slap. But maybe Miss. Jane was more like Mami, maybe she didn't care about that type of thing. Because she just looked down at her pasta, just like Jordan, and shrugged.  
  
"Fine. Do what you want."  
  
Mr. Ralph grunted and trudged over to the phone to call for his pizza. Then he trudged back out, stopping by Jordan's chair to ruffle his hair. "G'night, Jordan."  
  
"Jordan." said Sara, but he was already out of his chair and half way to the bathroom. Minutes later we heard him retching.  
  
"Anyone want some bread?" asked Miss. Jane.  
  
"He's throwing up, Miss. Jane!" I cried.  
  
"How about salad?" asked Miss. Jane.  
  
"But-"  
  
Sara elbowed me hard in the ribs. "She knows." She hissed, "But she ain't gonna do anything. Leave it."  
  
Later that night Sara came into Jordan and my room. Jordan was on the bottom bunk, reading quietly. Sara crawled in beside him and motioned for me to sit beside her.  
  
"Sometimes Miss. Jane don't see things or hear things." She said. "Sometimes there are things she don't wanna see so she just don't. You get it? She don't wanna see Jordan being sick so she don't."  
  
I nodded. I got it. Sometimes there were things I didn't want to see Mami doing, like bringing home strange men or drinking till she passed out. But I couldn't stop seeing them. I envied Miss. Jane.  
  
"Why don't you tell a story, Sara?" asked Jordan, shutting his book.  
  
"Okay." She said, grinning. She cuddled up by Jordan, I leaned against her legs, every now and then she'd poke me in the back with her toes.  
  
"Once upon a time." She began, "Which could be anytime really, there was two princes and a princess. They lived in a tower in a castle in a forest surrounded by a wall covered in thorns. Each had a special power, the oldest prince had magic so he could make himself anywhere just by closing his eyes and imagining. The second prince had the magic to turn into anything he wanted, he could be a deer or a bear or a hawk or a rose or even a girl if he wanted to. And the princess, who was the prettiest girl in the world," Jordan snorted, Sara elbowed him and continued, "The princess WHO WAS THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD, could change the past when she wanted to. So if one of them fell and scraped their knee she could turn back time and change it. Or if there weren't enough food she could turn back time to when food was really cheep and buy it then. Or if someone died she could turn back time to when they weren't dead and have them back again.  
  
The first prince and the second prince and the princess were very happy in their castle except for one thing. Sometimes at night, when it was dark and the moon dissolved, Shadow Wolves made of the darkness where there is never light. They prowled the castle and tried to hurt the first prince and the second prince and the princess. And their master was an Evil Man made of cobwebs and slime from between the bathroom tiles and sludge from the side of the street and bad breath. And he hated the first prince and the second prince and the princess so he sent his Shadow Wolves to kill them."  
  
But he could never get them."  
  
See, whenever the Evil Man sent his Shadow Wolves out to get them, the first prince would close his eyes and be far far away, in the Sahara desert, or on the bottom of the sea, or inside a mountain. And the second prince would turn into a peasent girl so the wolves wouldn't recognize him. And the princess would turn back time to before the moon dissolved and hide there till they'd gone."  
  
And that was just the way it was and they were always safe from the Shadow Wolves, until they figured out how to kill them."  
  
"Is that the end?" I asked, I wanted to hear more. I wanted to know if they killed the Shadow Wolves.  
  
Sara shook her head, "Not really. It will end when they figure out how to kill the Shadow Wolves and the Evil Man and how to get out of the forest."  
  
** A/N: hey hey hey! SYMOBLISM (I hope it isn't crappy symonbism but if it is, cest la vie!) 


	10. chapter ten

A/N: hahahaha! It's ANOTHER flashback! Sorry I haven't updated sooner, I just started school and the work load is BRUTAL. But anyway, I thought I'd do something tonight because I was feeling discouraged by my algebra homework (I swear they must make u do algebra in HELL) so I needed something to cheer me up! so here's a flash back. No it wont tell u what happened in the foster home. Wait for it.  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
ANGEL  
  
Eric Monroe was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. At fourteen you are supposed to be a gangly, zit ridden freak with a squeaking voice and feet longer than your legs. Eric Monroe was none of these things.  
  
Eric Monroe I couldn't say his name enough, write it enough, *think * it enough. Eric Monroe, with the big gray eyes and cute turned up nose with a smattering of freckles, cheeky smile, soft brown hair. Eric Monroe the smartest, nicest, coolest person I knew.  
  
Eric Monroe, Sara's boyfriend.  
  
Yup. That's right. Eric Monroe was Sara's handsome, nice, smart, funny *straight * boyfriend. Sara's boyfriend. My Sara. My black haired sister of the sad green eyes, a laugh like a little girl, a sigh like an old woman. My best friend, but if things had been different, if I'd been a girl maybe, I would have betrayed her.  
  
I really made fourteen-year-old, self sick. And who could I tell? Not Sara obviously, Jimmeny *that * would have backfired!  
  
That left Mother Mary, and I wasn't about to say anything to *her *, or Jordan. Jordan was sixteen, he was (in my opinion) all knowing. By that time we'd been living with Mother Mary for four years. In one year I'd have to 'go to work' for Jones.  
  
I had one year to be innocent, Sara had one year left to be innocent. That is, if we ever were innocent.  
  
Mother Mary was one of the Skip Mothers. The Skip Mothers all had 'homes' in the abandoned factories near a large dump on the East River. The Skip Mothers took street kids and runaways in, boys slept on the second floor, girls on the third, we ate on the fourth. The ground floor frequently flooded, so it wasn't good for much of anything unless you enjoy swimming around in toxic, sludgy, garbage water. During the day, younger Skip Kids were free to do as we liked. As long as we stayed with Mother Mary until we were fifteen, old enough to work, then it was a-okay.  
  
In our minds, and in the minds of so many other Skip Kids, it was the perfect deal. Mother Mary (who looked nothing like the Blessed Virgin) took care of us, fed us, gave us 'beds', for nothing until we were fifteen.  
  
At fifteen you left. At fifteen-boy or girl-you were obliged to work the nine to five for Jones. Jones got a cut of your trade, and he left his mark on you, but if you worked for Jones you made money and no one messed with you. Beat one of Jones kids up and you've got something coming! Last time a trick hurt one of Jones kids he was found beaten to death in a Dumpster.  
  
Jones was insurance. We sold our soles to Jones, he gave us our lives. Working for Jones is the closest you'll get to finding a prostitute's union in America.  
  
But back to Eric.  
  
Eric wasn't one of Mother Mary's kids. He wasn't a Skip Kid period. He had a mother and he had a father and he lived in a row house in Brooklyn. We knew Eric because he went to PS 66 with us.  
  
At first he was just another rich prep that cared to grace or squalid corridors and brave the fumes of the lunch room. Sara and I paid him no attention what so ever. Then one day he hit Sara with his bike, apologized profusely, dinked her to his parents coffee shop to get some ice for her ankle and a romance was born.  
  
Which brings me, my dear, full circle. Back to the roof of Mother Mary's building, sitting on a milk crate next to Jordan, sharing a cigarette and getting ready to tell him my dilemma.  
  
I coughed slightly, "Uh...Jordan?"  
  
"Yesh, m'dear? How can I help you?"  
  
"I...say you...theoretically, let's say, *theoretically * lets say...that you...had a crush on someone...off limits?"  
  
Jordan quirked his left eye brow and then winced, he'd just pierced it and it was still sore. "Theoretically, eh?"  
  
"Theoretically."  
  
"How off limits?"  
  
"Very very very very off limits. Out of orbit. Straight off limits."  
  
That made him laugh. "Ang, you're a good looking kid, I think you could help convince him otherwise. Jimmeny, I've seen you do it before. Remember Alex?"  
  
"Alex just needed a nudge. Alex was teetering."  
  
He shrugged, "True enough. I had a feeling about him anyway."  
  
"Back to the subject, Jordan!!!" I snapped.  
  
"Right. Even if he's not teetering, you're damn persuasive. Maybe he's bi anyway."  
  
That made me laugh. Eric bi? Jimmeny Cricket! The pope'd take a lover before Eric turned out to be bi!  
  
"No it's not even likely. There's another problem, anyway."  
  
"Another problem? Besides sexuality?"  
  
"He has a girl friend."  
  
"Yeah, so? Look Angel, if he's not gay and he's inaccessible anyway, why does it matter that he has a girl friend?  
  
"Because I feel horrible for crushing on a friend's boyfriend!" I wailed.  
  
"Shit." Gasped Jordan, "Shit shit shit *shit *! It's Eric! It's Goddamn *Eric * isn't it, Ang?"  
  
"Maybe." I sighed.  
  
"Oh, Angel. Look, I know you feel bad. I know it's a nasty situation. But don't feel bad about the crush, it'll go away in time. It's not like you kissed him or anything."  
  
"I feel like I should tell Sara."  
  
"NO! No, don't do that. Really *really * don't do that. It'll make her feel like crap. Find someone else to like and let her enjoy Eric. It's your last year, Angel. Seriously, it's your last normal year. Get a nice boyfriend and enjoy it, okay?"  
  
I nodded quietly and glanced over at Jordan. He looked so sad just then, like he wanted to cry. I'd only ever seen Jordan cry once, back at the foster home, his eyes'd looked like someone shattered them like glass and his mouth was very straight, you could barely see his lips. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and his cheeks sucked all the say in so he looked like a skeleton. I wondered if he'd ever really been a child.  
  
"When are we gonna leave Mother Mary, Jordan?" I asked.  
  
"As soon as you two are working we're gonna find a squat, I promise. We'll get out, maybe go to Soho or East Village, there are some squat towns there. We can work and pay our dues and be safe."  
  
"Will we do that forever?"  
  
"Nah. We'll save up money. When you don't pay taxes you don't loose as much cash, y'know? We'll save up and I'll start a music store. I'll sell tapes and guitars and stuff and everyone'll come and love it. You'll do something good too, Ang. Any ideas, so far?"  
  
"I dunno what I wanna do. I'm not really good at anything. I think I'd just like to find someone who loves me, and live in a house with heat, and water that isn't rusty. A house I have to pay rent or mortgage for. If I had that, a legit home that I could take people into and say 'This is my house. Look it's nice' or something. I think then I'd be happy enough. What do you think Sara would want?"  
  
"Kids." Said Jordan, "Lots and lots of *kids *."  
  
I snorted, Sara was always talking about what she wanted to name her kids when she grew up, Eli, Tomas, Julia, Ingrid, Lucy, Ana, Laura, Jenny, Alan, Elia, Mark. She loved the name Mark.  
  
"If I had a kid I'd name it Rice-a-ronni." I said.  
  
"I'd name it Cheez-it."  
  
"I'd name it Space Needle."  
  
"I'd name it Sunshine Anorexia."  
  
"I'd name it Bulimia."  
  
"Schizophrenia."  
  
"Bipolar."  
  
"Border Line Personality Disorder."  
  
"That's a mouthful!"  
  
"Swan Hilda!"  
  
"Apple Jacks!"  
  
"Capn' Crunch!"  
  
"Miller Light!"  
  
"Tiajuana Ganjabhong!"  
  
"Alice B. Pothead."  
  
"Pothead."  
  
"Break it up and it becomes Pot Head."  
  
"HAHAHA!"  
  
**  
  
A/N: it's delicious it's not nutritious it's pointless and badly written and NOTHING happens but hey, its funny. And it tells you what they do for four years after they get out of that foster home. REVIEW!! 


	11. chapter eleven

A/N sorry for the long wait between updates. I'm not sure if I said this in the last one, but I can only update once a week now because of the ridiculous homework load that's been dumped on me this year. So anyhoo here it is.  
  
O and it's another flashback since I love 'em so much!  
  
Ah and if I spelled 'aunk' wrong I'm really sorry. For those who don't know or those who can't tell from this slaughtersom spelling and aunk is the Egyptian symbol for life. Its like a circle, with a horizontal line under it on top of a vertical line. Kind of like the symbol for girl only different.  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
ANGEL  
  
I died on my fifteenth birthday and was reborn as Angel Jones of the Soho street corner, with an aunk tattoo on her left hip, a million rainbow wigs and the best outfits this side of the world. It was in a way liberating to start work for Jones at last. After that first night, all the weight and fear that had been resting on my shoulders gathered itself into a ball and jumped up into the air. After that first night I was rarely afraid of anything ever again.  
  
Maybe that's because that Saturday I used up all my fear.  
  
I remember crying the before I went out. I was all dressed up in an itzy pink skirt and tank. I'd only worn drag a few times before and the clothes felt alien to me, like I was in someone else's skin. I stared in the cracked full length mirror propped against one wall and saw a slim Latino woman with long blond hair, a skimpy pink outfit and far too much make up staring back at me.  
  
This isn't me, I thought. This will *never * be me.  
  
"You look good, Ang." Said Sara, smiling an over bright smile and adjusting my skirt. "You look real good."  
  
"Thanks." I whispered. "Sara..."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I..I don't wanna do it." I choked out, sobbing and sinking down onto my mattress.  
  
"Oh, Ang!" she wailed, hugging me tight, "Oh, Angel."  
  
"C'mon Angel, we ain't got all night!" I heard Shelley call from down stairs.  
  
"Shut-up!" cried Alice. I could just see her slapping Shelley's arm to shush her. Alice and Shelley were best friends, and at eighteen, the oldest of Jones kids still living with Mother Mary. They were the unofficial leaders of Jones kids who still staid on as they did.  
  
"You guys go on, I'll stay and wait for Angel." I heard Jordan say.  
  
"No!" I called, wiping my eyes and motioning for Sara to fix the make-up, "I'll be down in a sec, just hold on!"  
  
"Speed it up Ang, we're losing money!" warned Shelley only to get another slap from Alice. I smirked and stood cautiously, still unsteady on the steep heels.  
  
"Pray for me, Sara." I said quietly.  
  
"Here, take this." She said, fumbling with the clasp of her gold necklace and handing putting in around my neck. I was shocked. The necklace was Sara's favorite, it had Jesus and Mary and her favorite saints on it.  
  
"Sara no.."  
  
"Take it or I'll scream." She warned.  
  
I snorted. "Fine, fine. Jesus, Maria child I'll take it."  
  
"Good." She smiled and sat back down, "Good luck Ang."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"ANGEL JONES GET DOWN HERE NOW!!!"  
  
"KEEP YOUR FUCKING SHIRT ON SHEL I'M COMING!!" I yelled as I thumped down the stairs. Behind me Sara exploded into giggles, and I did too a second later when I realized the irony of what I'd just said.  
  
"Took your sweet time." Grumbled Shelley.  
  
"You look great, Ang." Said Fred. Alice nodded in agreement. Jordan smiled slightly but he didn't look proud like Alice and Fred.  
  
As we left the building I fell in stride with Jordan. Unlike me Jordan wasn't in drag. Jordan worked the club circuit with Fred, while the girls and I took the street corners and docks. The clubs may sound safer, but they aren't. At least, the ones Jordan and Fred frequented were not. They were small, packed rooms filled with black light and undulating, half naked bodies. In these clubs being high was almost a requirement. The boys who worked the clubs leant against the grubby walls by the bathrooms, waiting for a trick. The problem with standing there is that it's dark, and the kid is high and the clubs are loud. If anything happened to you you'd be hard pressed to find someone who'd be able or willing to stop it. If they even notice what's going on.  
  
The five of us ducked down an alley and Fred pulled a plastic bag with a small portion of white powder inside a lighter and some strips of foil out of a cavernous pocket. I watched, slightly queasy as he shook some out onto the foil and heated it. White smoke curled upward and he handed it to Shelley who took a large gulp of the smoke, holding it in. Fred gave us each a strip of foil in turn. When it was my turn I hesitated.  
  
"I dunno..."  
  
"Trust me, Ang. You'll *need * it." said Alice.  
  
"But..."  
  
"It ain't gonna kill you. Jeez, you use once and it won't make you a junkie. Do I look like a junkie to you?" snapped Shelley.  
  
"It helps to be a little out of it, Angel." Said Jordan. "Seriously."  
  
I nodded and sucked down the smoke and...  
  
And I felt terrific! It was like everything just vanished. Like I'd never have problems ever again. It was like all the fear and anger at my situation just floated away like a red balloon and nothing would ever be able to hurt me again. I was in love with everything. I grinned.  
  
"She likes it, ladies and gents!" exclaimed Fred.  
  
And it was true. I did like it. I liked it *a lot *.  
  
* * * * Later that night I leaned against a street light, basking in the safe island of light. A car slowed down as it passed me and I leaned forward, hooking my cat claw finger nails over the edge of the drivers side window.  
  
"Hey cutie, wanna party?"  
  
* * * * A/N okay well there it is. Please review! 


	12. chapter twelve

A/N: had lots of time on my hands so I decided to update wahool! ( I think wahoo should be spelled with an l because wahool is more fun to say than wahoo but anyway...)  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
MIMI  
  
When I got to the hospital I saw the grim reaper standing by Angel's door. He was six foot tall, maybe more with dark hair standing in every direction, his eyes were black smudges, he was wearing a black mesh top and (oddly) black octopus pants with a belt of glow sticks and he was dead pale.  
  
Then he opened his eyes and I realized it wasn't the reaper, it was just some tired looking guy with smudged eyeliner.  
  
But I swear, I nearly had a heart attack. I thought, shit it's the fucking Angel of Death and he's come for Angel. I shook my head hard, trying to get those thoughts out. Coming down does that to me, it makes me euphoric as well as sore all over.  
  
"Who're you?" I asked (slurred more like. Another embarrassing side effect, my tong turns to rubber) I should have tried to find the Man before I came here, but I'd just had a nasty fight with Roger and...well I wasn't really thinking.  
  
"Who gives a fuck?" asked the guy.  
  
Well that's nice! I thought. "I do!" I snapped, "When people who look like the reaper lurk outside my friends hospital rooms I wonder who the hell they are. Is that alright with you?"  
  
"The reaper?" he snorted, "Yeah I guess I sort of do..you would too though."  
  
"What's your name?" I sighed. I wasn't in the mood I really wasn't.  
  
"Jones."  
  
Ah, one of Jones kids. That'd explain it. I'd just noticed the aunk tattoo on his left bicep, Jones trade mark. My friend Lacy worked under Jones and she had one too. Angel'd also had one on her hip.  
  
"You her brother?" I asked.  
  
The guy grinned, "Yeah."  
  
"I'm Mimi." I said, extending my hand. "Lacy works at the same club as me."  
  
"Lacy's a good kid." he said, "My first name's Jordan."  
  
I nodded, "Ang told me about you."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. She missed you and her old friends..is she awake?"  
  
"No." he sighed again, "Collins says she isn't awake much lately."  
  
I bit my lip hard, "You just get off work then?" I asked. I couldn't handle talking about Angel for too long. Not in the state she was in.  
  
"Yeah. You look a little ragged."  
  
"I feel more than ragged."  
  
"I know the feeling. Look, I did a binge this weekend so I've got some on me. Trying to come down slowly. I'll give you some."  
  
"For how much?"  
  
Jordan bit his lip, "Buy me a bagel or something and we'll call it even. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning."  
  
"Sure thing. Let's go."  
  
* * * *  
  
Half an hour and one bagel later we both felt much better and I was really starting to like him. When we got back to the waiting room a man who I can only describe as very brightly colored came bounding up us, "Jordan! Have you seen Sara?" he called, twisting the hem of his T-shirt.  
  
Jordan frowned, "No...shit."  
  
"Don't panic, I've sent Remy and David to look for her. She might still be in the hospital, and that Mark guy and what's-his-face have gone to look for her in the neighborhood."  
  
"What's-his-face Collins?"  
  
"That'll be it. Rasta Joe."  
  
I snorted. "Rasta Joe?"  
  
"I thought you were asexual, Jordan, what're you doing with a chick?"  
  
"I can have breakfast with Angel's friend without sleeping with her can't I? Bisexual not asexual."  
  
Rainbow Boy frowned, "Isn't asexual...?"  
  
"Asexual is liking *neither *."  
  
"Oh. Right. I'm not stupid I swear I just get them mixed up." he said to me, "I'm Sids and I have auditory dyslexia. At least, that's Sara's theory. I like pie and pigeons and pygmy marmosets. My letter of the month is 'P'. Did you know that your pupils dilate when you're horny?"  
  
"When you've managed to recover your lower jaw from the floor you can tell him your name too." muttered Jordan.  
  
I shook myself. I wasn't used to that sort of greeting *at all *. "Uhhh...i'm Mimi."  
  
"Is that your given name or your real name?" asked Sids.  
  
"It's...no it's not my given name. That's Lucia."  
  
"Oh." And suddenly he went very quiet. He twisted this way and that and then suddenly dove off toward the waiting room and began to weave in and out of the seats, counting them.  
  
"One two three four..."  
  
"What was that?" I asked, still gobsmacked.  
  
"five six seven eight.."  
  
"That was just Sids."  
  
"nine ten eleven twelve..."  
  
"But..."  
  
"thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen.."  
  
"That's his way of coping with being upset."  
  
"seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty..."  
  
"Acting strangely?"  
  
"Twenty one twenty two twenty three twenty four..."  
  
"No that's how he always is. Counting I mean. He counts when he's upset."  
  
"twenty five twenty six twenty seven twenty eight twenty nine thirty." Sids suddenly stopped counting and rushed back to the seventh seat and sat down. Then he sprang back up and began pacing, seven steps in each direction.  
  
I quirked an eyebrow, "Seven," said Jordan, "is the perfect number. Everything happens in seven, the creation of the world, the days of the week, Sids's birthday, the seventh of the seventh. Bad things come in three so he never sits in the third seat or takes just three steps. I guarantee he'll dye his hair purple tonight."  
  
"Purple?"  
  
"When your aura is purple you are enlightened because that's what the color purple represents, enlightenment and peace. Nirvana essentially. Sids is very big on that sort of thing. He's very superstitious."  
  
"He's quite a character."  
  
"He's Sids."  
  
I nodded and headed over to Sids, pulling him into the seventh chair.  
  
"Sit down you're making me dizzy."  
  
"I'm sorry Mimi Lucia."  
  
"It's alright." I swallowed hard, "Sids?"  
  
"Si?"  
  
"Do you-do you think that Angel is going to die?"  
  
"No. She isn't going to die."  
  
I smiled, "No? I hope you're right."  
  
Sids looked at me earnestly, "I won't let her die, Mimi Lucia. I really won't."  
  
Why this was comforting I don't know, but it was. "Promise Sids?"  
  
"Promise." 


	13. chapter thirteen

A/N: woot! Another update you lucky duckies!  
  
Chapter Thirteen (you know what they say about thirteen)  
  
SARA  
  
I couldn't face it. The hospital. The truth, that it really was Angel, our Angel. I couldn't face the stark, white halls, couldn't look the sick and dying in the eye, couldn't look Angel in the eye. Not after last Christmas.  
  
On the way out I had to pass the maternity ward. Part of me wanted to run past as fast as I could, to run so fast I became light or a breeze blowing through the sterile halls. But the other part, the big part that's still childish and irrational wanted to see if she was still there. She wasn't of course, I don't suppose I'll ever see her again. But I went anyway, to the hallway in front of the glass fronted room with its rows and rows of cots and pressed my face against the cool panel, searching each cot for her, for Harmony. She wasn't there. I knew she wouldn't be there, but I stood and looked all the same, searching and searching that tiny baby.  
  
Not so tiny anymore I guess. Babies, they grow quick. She'd be big now, maybe walking maybe talking. She has a mother, I know, a mother with long brown hair and warm hazel eyes who sings to her real lullabies, and a tall father with dark hair and a face that laughs and laughs even when it's still. Two parents and a dog and a room of her own in a big house in Connecticut or Pennsylvania. Somewhere far far away from New York City.  
  
My baby, my little Harmony and I'll never see her again..  
  
I had to get out of that hospital.  
  
I can't even remember what direction I started walking in. I just walked walked walked wherever my aching feet would take me. It was chilly and raining. Not for real rain, but that horrible mist that falls so fine and soft you don't feel justified calling it rain. That mist was so cold and it beaded on my clothes and soaked into them so I knew I'd be damp for a week.  
  
Oh, God I just wanted someone to come. I wanted someone to come and wrap me in a warm hug and tell me it was all better and my life was all a dream. I wanted to wake up in a warm bed and have a family and a husband and a dog and see Harmony sleeping in her bed. I wanted someone to tell me it was all a stupid nightmare.  
  
"Sara!"  
  
I was so startled I near jumped out of my clothes, Jordan's old beat up blue car had pulled up beside me, but it wasn't my brother hanging out the window, it was Mark.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
"I'm-I'm..."  
  
"You're soaked!" he cried, like he'd just noticed, "C'mon, get in the car."  
  
It's a good thing it was Mark and not some complete stranger, 'cause I know that even if I hadn't known him I'd have gotten into that car.  
  
Once I was buckled in Mark rolled up the window and blasted the heaters till the windows fogged.  
  
"Where are we going?" I asked, still shivering and sniffling.  
  
"My place I guess, unless you'd rather go home."  
  
"Your place is fine, if you promise not to rape me." I grinned to show I was kidding but I don't think he saw, because his face just looked so shocked! It was hilarious, his eyes got all wide and his mouth just hung open. I started laughing and laughing! When he heard that he tried to pretend like he knew all along I was joking. He forced his face into this kind of blank, indifferent look but it didn't do any good. I was beginning to see that Mark had the type of face where you could see *everything * he was thinking. He tried so hard to hide things but every little twitch showed up.  
  
"Well, um, here we are." He said, stopping in front of a building that looked like it was about to just up and die.  
  
"How'd you get Jordan's car?" I asked.  
  
"David gave me the keys. Dunno how he got 'em."  
  
"David used to be a pick pocket. He worked the subways. Be pretty easy for him to snag Jordan's car keys."  
  
Mark nodded, digesting what I'd just said as he unlocked the door then leaned against it to un-stick it. Inside was cool and damp, it had the kind of spicy, musty smell wood gets when it's old and always damp. It took us six flights of creaking, half rotten stairs to get to his apartment, which was almost as cold as the rest of the building.  
  
"Welcome, to my domain." He said in a phony announcer voice. I giggled and looked around the room. It needed some love. The squat was pretty dismal, but we'd changed that quick. It was still falling down but at least it was falling down with *style *. If you're going to live in a dump, live in a nice one!  
  
"It's..nice?"  
  
"No it's not." Said Mark as he knelt down to light the small wood burning stove that squatted in the center of the room. "But thanks anyway. Want a blanket or something? You look half frozen."  
  
Even as he said it he was handing me a sweater that was hanging off the arm of the sofa and gesturing toward a blanket that was crumpled in a ball on the floor. While I got myself warm he made some tea. I'm no fan of tea, but I wasn't about to complain!  
  
"Can I ask a sensitive question?" he asked when we were both seated, clutching warm mugs.  
  
"You want to know why I left."  
  
"Bingo."  
  
I shrugged, "Hospitals are hard for me and...and Angel and I didn't part on the best of terms."  
  
"You wanna talk about it?"  
  
"Yes. No. Yes. Yeah, I guess I do." I took a deep, deep breath, like I was trying to fill myself up with air till I popped. I hadn't talked about this ever, it was just common knowledge, "Well, see I guess it started last April..." 


	14. chapter fourteen

A/N: like it? hate it? I know I haven't written in a while, sorry about the wait. Reviews make me sing happy songs and dance in trees!  
  
Chapter Fourteen  
  
SARA  
  
* Flash Back *  
  
I had a problem. Sitting on the sill of the open French windows, watching Sids playing his steel guitar to Angel, Spanish love songs filling the garden and the humid summer air. I knew I had a *serious * problem . Where was Eric? He should have been here..should have been here by now. What was holding him up? Was he okay? I had important things to tell him. He should have been awake by now..  
  
"Jordan?"  
  
"Sneh?" he muttered, rolling off the battered sofa, "Whacha want?"  
  
I smiled. Poor Jordan was practically incoherent after naps. Seeing him disheveled, sprawled on the floor made me a sudden harsh pang of love. I really * really * did love my brother.  
  
"Sara? You've got a funny look on your face. What is it?"  
  
"Nothing..nothing just..have you seen Eric?"  
  
"He went up stairs for a nap before work. He said he was feeling 'fluey."  
  
I frowned. Something was niggling at the back of my brain. Had been for ages...Eric was using * way * too much of late. And now he was feeling "fluey'. Right. 'fluey my ass.  
  
"I'm gonna go check on him."  
  
"Surely Shirly." Jordan grinned. "Sara?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You gonna tell 'im?"  
  
"Tell him what?" I asked, startled. Jordan gave me a hard look.  
  
"That you're pregnant."  
  
"How did you-"  
  
"Sara I've known you all your life. I can tell something's wrong and I figure you're either preggers or you want to break it off with Eric."  
  
I nodded. "Well I'm not going to end it with Eric. I need him now more than ever."  
  
"Well good luck."  
  
"Thanks." I clenched my fists and dragged myself up the stairs, mulling over what I was going to say to Eric when I got to the top. This was possibly one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. Christ it might not even have been Eric's kid. Considering my occupation...you're always careful but...well you know condoms only work 98 percent of the time after all.  
  
"Eric?"  
  
The door creaked when I pushed it open. Our room was always dark, Eric kept the curtains pulled tightly. The music was on way too loud, 'Hush Hush' by Aimee Man.  
  
IN THE DARK I'D LIKE TO READ HIS MIND  
  
BUT I'M FRIGHTENED BY THE THINGS I MIGHT FIND  
  
OH THERE MUST BE SOMETHING HE'S THINKING OF  
  
TO TURN HIM AWAY  
  
He was lying on the bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. "Eric?"  
  
HUSH HUSH  
  
KEEP IT DOWN NOW  
  
VOICES CARRY  
  
No answer. "Eric? Eric! ERIC!"  
  
HUSH HUSH  
  
SHUT-UP NOW  
  
VOICES CARRY  
  
That's when I saw the needle. He'd tied his favorite bandana around his upper arm, the needle was still in, a little bit of blood had seeped into the works.  
  
"ERIC! ERIC WAKE UP WAKE UP JESUS ERIC WAKE UP!!"  
  
* * * "You should get rid of it! You know it's the right thing to do!"  
  
"Just fuck off, Angel! I'm not getting rid of my baby!"  
  
Same old argument we'd been having for months and months.  
  
"You're a heroin addict! You're a hooker! You have NO money how the fuck do you expect to be able to take care of it? It would be better for the baby if you had an abortion!"  
  
"How is it better for the baby to kill it? How is that giving it a chance? Who are you to get so fucking high and mighty? You're fucking boyfriend uses more than Eric ever did! You're BOTH whores! Don't tell me what to do? Hasn't the fucking penny dropped for you? You're JUST as bad as me!"  
  
"At least I'm not going to turn out like my mother!"  
  
"What the FUCK is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Oh, come on Sara! You say the penny hasn't dropped for ME? What about YOU? Can't you see it? you're becoming Shawna! Nineteen year old hooker with a drug problem and a baby with no father and no way to support it! They'll take it away from you and it'll go into a foster home and meet another Mr. Ralph and-"  
  
"SHUT-UP! SHUT-UP YOU BITCH YOU * BITCH *! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU SO MUCH! DON'T YOU *DARE * BRING THAT INTO THIS DON'T YOU * EVER * BRING THAT INTO * ANYTHING *!"  
  
"Sara I-"  
  
"NO! NO SHUT-UP SHUT-UP! I HATE YOU ANGEL I HATE YOU AND I WISH IT HAD BEEN * YOU *! I WISH YOU'D BEEN THERE BEFORE ME AND JORDAN AND I WISH HE'D GOTTEN * YOU *! JORDAN NEVER DESERVED THAT HE NEVER DID BUT YOU FUCKING DID YOU BASTARD I HATE YOU AND I WISH MR. RALPH HAD GOTTEN YOU!"  
  
That shut him up. He went stark white and just * stared * at me like he'd never seen me before in his life. Then he turned and ran out of the house. I felt me knees go out and collapsed against the all sobbing and sobbing. I was shaking so hard I could hardly breathe. I couldn't believe I'd said those things! God knows I never meant a word of it!  
  
"Ang.." I croaked, hauling myself to my meet and staggering to the door. The first flakes of snow were beginning to swirl down from the sky. They looked like falling stars, melting when they hit the ground. It was cold * too * cold and all Angel was wearing was a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "Come back." I whispered into the empty street. "Please come back."  
  
* * *  
  
We didn't see Ang for another three months. The day she came back found me right back where I'd started, sitting on the sill of the French windows, this time closed, looking out over the garden at Alice and Louie-Louie and Carro trying to build an igloo out tires. You see some pretty interesting things on Warren Street. Not many appreciate it.  
  
But anyway...I saw Ang before he saw me. I say he because he wasn't in his work or party clothes. Just the jeans and t-shirt he'd worn the night he left. Seeing Angel walking down the street I felt my heard jump in my throat, I felt horrible and everyone, Sids, Jordan, David, even Remy, though she never said anything directly, had been so angry at me when Angel left. Things were better now, but I think Sids never quite forgave me, and who'd blame him? I never quite forgave myself.  
  
"Angel..."  
  
"I-I came to get my stuff and...is Sids here? I need to talk to Sids."  
  
I felt like somebody'd poured a bucket of ice down my back. I * knew * that tone. Not from Angel, but from other people.  
  
"Oh, no. No Ang...I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I never meant any of it, please Angel don't punish Sids for what I said, please!"  
  
"I came to get my stuff and talk to Sids. I did a lot of thinking out there and I need to get * out * of here, Sara. I need to get clean and get on with my life." He sounded so calm, his voice was flat, like he'd rehearsed this a thousand times and knew exactly what he was going to say off by heart. "I stopped by Mexy's and talked to Jones and the contract's off. No hard feelings, but I don't work with you all anymore. I've changed my last name and everything."  
  
"Please Angel.."  
  
"Where's Sids?"  
  
I stared hard at my feet-or what I could see of them, I was six months in by then and getting big-"He's in his room." I heard Angel turn and trudge up the stairs. For the longest time I just stood there, staring down at my feet. Finally I heard Angel coming back down the stairs. He stopped in the hall in front of me and put a cool, dry hand on my shoulder.  
  
"I love you, amiga. Best of luck."  
  
I watched as he walked out the door and down the street, getting smaller and smaller and smaller till he shrunk to nothing. Behind me, I heard a sob and turned to see Sids leaning against the wall, crying his heart out.  
  
I'd never seen Sids cry before.  
  
* * *  
  
There are some parts of New York that are very pretty. You forget sometimes, especially when you live on Warren Street. The part of Brooklyn I was walking through was beautiful. The street lamps didn't flicker or hum, just cast a steady orange glow over the neat side walks and gardens and row houses with their lights and families.  
  
422 Clipper Street 422 Clipper Street 422...  
  
There it was, warm honey gold bricks, white wicker porch furniture, roses in the front yard and a big tree with a tire swing. It hadn't changed in almost six years. I'd only been here once but I still remembered how the kitchen had been warm and smelled like cookies and how Eric's mom had shaken my hand like I was a normal fourteen year old, because to her that's what I was. Just a nice fourteen year old girl who dated her son..oh, God. Eric.  
  
But things were different now. Now she knew I wasn't a nice girl. I was the reason Eric ran away from home, I was the reason he stole 100 dollars from her purse to buy drugs the last time he visited her. I was the reason he was dead.  
  
It took all my strength to knock on that door.  
  
"Hello?" her eyes got real big when she recognized me. I grabbed the door so she couldn't shut it in my face.  
  
"Mrs. Monroe?"  
  
"What do you want?" God. She looked so angry. My teeth started to chatter and it was all I could do to keep holding that door instead of letting go and trying to warm myself.  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
She pursed her lips. You could tell she didn't want to * look * at me, let alone * talk * to me. Well too fucking bad.  
  
"It's real important. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes and I'll go I swear."  
  
"If it's money you want.."  
  
"It's not. I came to tell you...tell you..I just had a baby." I blurted. Feeling my heart twist up thinking about that sweet little thing all alone in the hospital. "It's Eric's." I added. I felt like a monster. Like I ruined everything I touched. I'd ruined Eric's life, I'd ruined Sids, chasing away the only person he'd ever loved, and I'd chased away Angel. Now I was ruining Mr. And Mrs. Monroe's lives, if I hadn't already. But I wasn't about to let my baby go into care and I couldn't take care of her on my own.  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
I felt like I'd been socked in the stomach. "What?"  
  
"I don't believe you. why should I? You just can't take care of it so you're going to dump God knows * who's * baby on us and pretend it's Eric's! Why should we believe anything you say?" she tried to shut the door then, but I put my weight into it and she couldn't budge it.  
  
"I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't be here if it weren't Eric's! You can get her tested, if you want but she looks just like him." I was desperate. They had to take her! They * had * to! They were perfect, absolutely perfect. They had everything and they'd love her. I knew they'd love her.  
  
"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Monroe, more softly this time. I don't know why she decided to believe me.  
  
"St. James Hospital. Her name's Harmony. Harmony Monroe." I felt like someone was choking me. Just hold on! I begged myself. Just hold on and for fuck's sake don't cry. Just don't cry.  
  
Mrs. Monroe nodded. "Listen to me, Sara, because I'm only going to say this once. I'll take her, whether she's Eric's or not I'll take her. I've been a social worker for almost forty years and I can't stand to see another child go through the system. But Sara, you're not to come back here ever again. You're not to call, write or * ever * try to get in touch with us or your daughter, you understand?"  
  
"Yes ma'am." I said in a tiny voice. I felt like I was shrinking. Like I was getting smaller and smaller and smaller, like Alice in Wonderland. Like I'd shrink till I was nothing. A blown out candle flame. I wonder what a candle flame looks like when it's blown out?  
  
I was colder than I'd ever been in my life that day, walking back from Brooklyn. I was so cold and I've never warmed up since. 


	15. chapter fifteen

Chapter 15  
  
ANGEL  
  
I've had this nightmare often enough that it shouldn't scare me. Too bad things don't work that way. Instead, it's even worse because I know what's going to happen next but I can't do shit to stop it..  
  
"What the fuck is this?"  
  
Jordan pushed himself further up against the wall, holding the big kitchen knife in front of him, Sara and I peered around the door, watching the scene unfold. They were perfectly still, like mannequins or the people in the Christmas tableaux at the mall. Mr. Ralph stood to the right of the door, three steps into our bedroom, Jordan was pressed against the far wall, next to the window, holding his big butcher's knife so hard his knuckles had turned white. The new boy, who's name I couldn't remember, was huddled against the bunk bed, crying. He was always crying. Made you want to punch him and hug him at the same time.  
  
"What the fuck is this?" demanded Mr. Ralph, "Where'd you get that fucking knife? Give it."  
  
"Not until you promise to leave him alone!" hissed Jordan, "You fucking *touch * anyone of us and I'll kill you!"  
  
"Give me the knife." Said Mr. Ralph, real quiet, "Give it."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Give me the knife, Jordan. Give it *now *."  
  
"Please, Jordan," said Sara in a tiny voice, "just give him the stupid knife."  
  
Jordan took a deep breath that rattled in his chest and then dropped the knife on the floor. Mr. Ralph bent over and picked it up, turning it around in his hands and examining it. I expected him to throw it at Jordan, or yell, instead he just turned around and lumbered out of the room, and still holding it, disappeared into his bedroom.  
  
* * * It was midnight when I woke up to Jordan rolling out of our bed.  
  
"Where you going?" I asked, still a little afraid that he was going to go stab Mr. Ralph with a stake knife.  
  
"The bathroom."  
  
"Have fun." Whispered Sara.  
  
"Shut-up, stupid." sighed Jordan. "I'm just getting a glass of water."  
  
"Suuuuure." Drawled Sara. I bit my pillow to keep from giggling.  
  
"Angel!" he called, a few minutes later.  
  
"What?"  
  
"C'mere!"  
  
"No way! It's freezin' out, I' ain't getting up."  
  
"You're gonna have to, I can't get the stupid door open."  
  
I sighed, rolled out of bed, and stumbled down the dark hall.  
  
"Help me push."  
  
We leaned all our weight against the door, and slowly it began to slide open. "What the hell d'you think's blocking it?" I hissed.  
  
"Dunno. Something big. There, I think that's enough." Said Jordan, sticking his arm through the opening and flicking on the light switch.  
  
That's when I saw the blood.  
  
It was everywhere, running over the moldy grout, staining the yellow tiles, all over everything. I was so shocked by the blood that I didn't even notice that it was coming from Mr. Ralph till Jordan dropped to his knees by the body and picked up the knife. He stared down at him, at the deep cuts running from wrist to elbow, then down at the knife, then up at me. He looked bleached and terrified.  
  
"He's not breathing." He said.  
  
I swallowed hard, "What do we do?"  
  
"I-I don't know." He dropped the knife and stared at the palms of his hands, turning tacky with blood. "I don't know."  
  
* * * A/N: sorry it's so short please review! 


	16. chapter sixteen

Chapter 16  
  
'...when we sit together, close..we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory.'  
--Virginia Woolf  
  
MARK  
  
My grandmother used to tell me stories about Poland and the ghettos. About having to line up for bread and soup. About having to leave her warm apartment with its wood floors and soft furniture for a leaky roofed house of a dead stranger that she shared with two other families. Later, when I was older, and she was dying, she told me about watching her three sisters die, one after the other, and then her mother, her father, her Bubbe. She told me about Auschwitz, and twig thin bodies piling up in corners. She told me about SS officers who looked like fallen angels with their blond halos and leather trench coats. She had a way with words, my grandmother, she could make you smell the rich, slightly bitter smell of the leather. You could almost hear it creaking slightly as they moved.  
  
Sara has the same power as a story teller. She doesn't use the precise descriptions of my grandmother, punctuated with Yiddish or Polish when she wanted to make a point, instead she speaks with a quiet despondency, as if this is another girl's story, and a very old one, and the telling is worn and faded. I know in the back of my mind that this would make an amazing film, just her on the sofa, unraveling her past, looking at it and holding it up to the light. Oddly though, I don't want to film it. It's one of the few times in my life when I don't even want to have my camera, when I don't feel like I need to hold it. Like my grandmother's stories, I know I won't have to film this to remember it.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says, "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have told you all that."  
  
"I think you needed to tell someone."  
  
She shrugs and sniffs, "The Waves, I've read that."  
  
For a second I'm baffled by this abrupt change of subject, but then I notice the old book with the bent cover and yellow pages on the coffee table.  
  
"It's Mimi's. I haven't read anything by Virginia Woolf since high school."  
  
"I read it when I was thirteen. I stole it from the public library. I had this boyfriend. Not Eric, I think his name was John Roberts. Anyway he was really smart and I guess I wanted him to think I was too. I took that book 'cause Virginia Woolf was so famous, and then I started reading it..it's the best book I've ever read. Seriously."  
  
I quirk an eyebrow, "Seriously?"  
  
"Seriously." She glares at me over her cup of cold tea, "I'll prove it. Here," she snatches the book up and rifles through it, "okay, I've got it. Just listen; 'I love...and I hate. I desire one thing only. My eyes are hard. Jinny's eyes break into a thousand lights. Rhoda's are like those pale flowers to which moths come in the evening. Yours grow full and brim and never break. But I am already set on my pursuit. I see insects in the grass. Though my mother still knits white socks for me and hems pinafores and I am a child, I love and I hate.'"  
  
COLLINS  
  
I'm half asleep when that dark haired girl comes back, mascara making black trails down her cheeks, "Can I talk to her?" she croaks. "In private?"  
  
I nod and lever my self out of the hard chair. Mark's leaning against the wall outside, once again camera-less.  
  
"A miracle." I say, gesturing toward his empty hands.  
  
"Shut-up." he chuckles.  
  
"What's she doing?" I ask.  
  
"Making her peace."  
  
I swallow hard. I wish there were more time. It seems that lately things have been rushing past me so fast I can't hold onto them. Days, months, years, hours, they're all one and the same. It's like trying to hold sunshine in your pocket. I just can't see where all that time's gone.  
  
"Ang?" the girl whispers from the room, "Ang I'm so sorry. I know I've said it all before, but I am. I really, really am. I never meant none of it, I was just so angry at you, but I never should have said it, Ang. You were right about Harmony, you know, I couldn't take care of her. I didn't keep her at the squat, I-I gave her to Eric's parents. She'll be happy, right? She's got a mom and a dad and she'll be okay. I couldn't get rid of her before she had a chance, though. So I guess we were both wrong there, but I was wronger."  
  
" 'Wronger' ain't a word, sweetie." Rasps Angel, and suddenly we all stiffen. I start to make for the room, but Mark grabs my arm and hold me back. The girl sniffles and laughs.  
  
"Hey, Angel."  
  
"Hello, querida. I heard you, you know."  
  
"I knew you could. I really meant it. You don't have to forgive me if you don't want to. I just wanted you to know."  
  
"Querida, I forgave you long ago."  
  
"But-"  
  
"I should have come to see you, should have said goodbye properly. I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, Angel..."  
  
"Don't cry, silly, it ain't the end of the world."  
  
"Feels like it is."  
  
"Don't say that, Sara, please don't say that. It isn't and you know it. We've been through Hell and back, and we've lost friends before and life keeps going."  
  
"Not for you." whispers Sara, "it's not fair."  
  
"It *is * fair. We all gotta die some day, chica. I won't lie, I'm scared stiff, but I also think it's gonna be okay. I really think it is." 


	17. epilogue

Epilogue  
  
Death  
  
There is a season for everything, a time for every occupation under heaven;  
  
A time for giving birth,  
  
A time for dying;  
  
A time for planting,  
  
A time for uprooting what has been planted.  
  
A time for killing,  
  
A time for healing;  
  
A time for knocking down,  
  
A time for building.  
  
A time for tears  
  
A time for laughter  
  
A time for mourning  
  
A time for dancing  
  
A time for throwing stones away,  
  
A time for gathering them;  
  
A time for embracing,  
  
A time to refrain from embracing.  
  
A time for searching ,  
  
A time for losing;  
  
A time for keeping,  
  
A dime for discarding.  
  
A time for tearing,  
  
A time for sewing;  
  
A time to keep silent,  
  
A time for speaking.  
  
A time for loving  
  
A time for hating  
  
A time for war,  
  
A time for peace  
  
Ecclesiastes 1-9  
  
SARA  
  
It always seems a little colder after someone dies, like maybe their heat kept the planet just a fraction warmer.  
  
I stood far away from the grave when they buried Angel. There was no priest, but that was good, because Angel had never been religious like that. A priest wouldn't have known her, anyway. He wouldn't have known what to say. Collins gave her eulogy, he quoted from the bible;  
  
'the fool folds his arms  
  
and eats his own flesh away.  
  
Better one hand full of repose  
  
Than two hands full of achievements  
  
To chase after the wind'  
  
That was Angel alright, she never cared about how much she got, she care about helping us. She made mistakes, we all make mistakes, but even when she left us to get well she wasn't just doing it for herself. She helped Sids too, because after she left he quit junk cold turkey. I did too, because of Harmony. But I wouldn't have been able to do it without Sids to help me. I know I wouldn't have been able to. So many times Angel saved us, and never did she ask for anything in return. She didn't want to be famous, she didn't want the world to know her name. All our Angel wanted was love. In a way Collins' quote does not ring true for Angel, she had her handful of repose, love, good deeds, but she also had bucket loads of achievements, she loved so many, she helped so many. If that's not an achievement I don't know what is.  
  
After the funeral was over. After they'd all finished their bickering and left, I walked across the grass, stiff with frost, and sat by her grave. I wanted to do something for her, I wanted to sing or read her a poem or even give her flowers. But I hadn't thought to bring flowers or poetry and I can't sing to save my life.  
  
"Sara?"  
  
"You always seem to find me, Mark. You stalking me?" I grinned to show I was joking, even though today was not a day for jokes.  
  
But he laughed softly, even though his heart wasn't in it, and settled down on the grass by me. "Maybe, maybe not. I wanted some time with Angel."  
  
"It doesn't seem real yet."  
  
"I don't think it ever will. I think in ten years we'll still be turning around, expecting to see her standing in a doorway or sitting on the couch. She was too alive to die."  
  
"I..." I had to swallow hard to keep from crying, "I wanted to give her something special. Something to remember us by."  
  
"She won't forget us."  
  
"I know but...so much is owed to her, Mark."  
  
"I know what you mean. I guess I feel the same way, but damned if I know what I could ever give."  
  
I sighed and traced patterns in the freshly turned earth, what could I give her? What did I have that she'd ever want?  
  
A story. Our story.  
  
"I'm going to tell you a story," I said, leaning my head on Mark's shoulder. He slid his arm around my shoulders and I smiled a little. "Once upon a time "Which could be anytime really, there was two princes and a princess. They lived in a tower in a castle in a forest surrounded by a wall covered in thorns. Each had a special power, the oldest prince had magic so he could make himself anywhere just by closing his eyes and imagining. The second prince had the magic to turn into anything he wanted, he could be a deer or a bear or a hawk or a rose or even a girl if he wanted to. And the princess, who was the prettiest girl in the world, could change the past when she wanted to. So if she said something, something horrible that she didn't mean, she could go back to the past and make it so she never said it. Or if someone died she could turn back time to when they weren't dead and have them back again."  
  
The End 


End file.
